Room For Desire
by Jewel Queen
Summary: Continuation of Room of Desire by Enchanted Nightingale with approval. Lucius/Harry. After the events in the Ministry, Lucius has to balance the Dark Lord, the possible future and his family's needs. He certainly doesn't need Potter to complicate things.
1. Chapter 1

Lucius was bored. Plain and simple. The pureblooded aristocrat was bored waiting hand and foot at their Dark Lord's bidding- which was whenever convenient to their hissing master's pleasure- or nursing his favourite wine and replaying certain images in his head while waiting to wait on the Dark Lord. It was a never-ending circle of Fate's cruel joke on him; more often than not replying to the Dark Lord breathy and flushed under his silver mask.

He missed his little green-eyed minx and often felt the pull to go back into the same room and just see if any trace of the raven-haired saviour could be picked up in the air. And he had taken to mapping out the places he had visited with the Weasleys over the past summers and the likely places he would be in the future just to alleviate some of the pain. It was torture. It was madness. It was undignified. But he was losing care over his old ideals, especially the ones that kept him tied to the Dark Lord and his rather cold marriage.

He sighed and kneaded his forehead, a habit that Severus taught him over the years to deal with such quandaries, as he leaned over his elegant white balcony and stared at his impecable garden. Even the colours and scents of all the flowers, the rare and the unique or even just plain pretties, all flowed together that was pleasant and calming to the senses without any dissonance. He took a deep inhale and blinked his icy-blue, almost grey, eyes deep in thought. To a Malfoy, a true one, family was the most important thing. One must always look after it and care for it before the needs of an individual which meant being fabulously rich, having varied contacts in every way and owning only the best in everything so that family could live peacefully even if it meant having some personal costs. While he didn't love Narcissa with his heart, he loved her with his Malfoy mind and she lived comfortably in the very least. If she had any secret lovers, she was more than discreet and he had not even detected a ghost of a rumour, but for him to take a lover- especially a male lover- it would be a betrayal of true Malfoy values and not just a simple treachery to his wife.

Lucius took a sip of his dark burgandy alcohol, needing its dry heaviness more than ever and lazily watched his son fly with great practiced skill on his top-notch broom recently bought as an early gift for his birthday. His son was very talented, naturally gifted, and yet, Potter was still better.

Harry Potter. Nuisance of his life, declared arch-nemesis of his son's and complete bane to the Dark Lord's. His thoughts always seemed to return back to small teen despite the complete opposite track they could be and were on and worse it was when he remembered the way his body felt flush against his during their activities in the Department of Mysteries.

Lucius hissed, feeling his drink work through his body and heat up his face. It was his seventh today already and he was starting to reach his limit. He had no desire to become drunk and even more disgraceful if there wasn't a certain someone to share a lapse of judgement with to give a pro to the debate. He scowled at his own mind and wished things were simple again like when he was Draco's age. Ignorant of the Dark Mark, eager to prove himself to his father and no wife to be tied down to as he understood the importance of his brief independence. Just as his father and father's father had done, he would wait until Draco was of age before the responsibilites of being a true Malfoy started to come into play allowing him to sow any wild oats he might have the desire to plant.

He watched his son dismount and gracefully land on his feet. He was so much like himself, but one could easily see the Narcissa in him. His face looked like it would never fully drop her rounded features instead of his angular ones and his son's hair was a bit more golden than his platinum blonde hair, just like Cissa's. But the way he talked and moved, that was purely Lucius. He smiled faintly. From what he knew of James Potter, being a few years older than him, Harry was a remarkable copy as well. But definitely had his mother's eyes and instincts and-

'What am I thinking?' He scowled more fiercly now. 'This is not acceptable.' His eyes glinted as the wards alerted him to Draco's request to visit him and a devious plan took hold in his mind.

He took his son into his office room and sat behind his desk of polished white ash tree wood. It was simple and elegant and pure, uncluttered with only a crystal paperweight and a few folders laid out to look nice. His chair matched with a high back intended to make himself look even more intimidating. Even after all these years, it still made Draco shudder when Lucius curled his long fingers possessively over the arm of his chair and leaned up against the painfully straight back without a sign of discomfort; in fact, he oozed smugness and arrogance. "Yes, my son?" he began in his rumbling voice.

Draco appeared to forget what he came here at first. "Father, my birthday is coming soon. Have any plans been made (1)?" he spoke simply after a cough. Lucius smirked fondly, summoning a house-elf to bring him more wine. The Italian Pinot Grigio he bought should be ripe enough now.

"No, of course not," he replied, swirling the wine that popped into his hand before sipping it. "Your mother takes care of the balls and social gatherings, you know that,"

Draco seemed hesitant to breath. "I meant, Father, have _you_ made any plans?"

Lucius took his time to savor the taste of his wine; this one was white, yes, when he usually preferred the darker colours, but it held the same dryness he looked for in all of his collections. He looked over the rim of his glass. "Your presents from me shall be mine own and will remain a surprise for the foreseeable future," he said with a grim smile. If anyone should have access to this memory, he could not seem as if he was doubting the Dark Lord despite the pain it caused his son. "I have other matters to discuss with you. What do you know of Harry Potter?"

Draco gave him a suspicious glance. "I'm sure the Dark Lord knows enough about him," he muttered.

"Ah, but you can never know too much. Out of all my contacts, Draco, I am certain you know the most. After all, you went to school with him for five years," Draco preened under the implied compliment and ranted for the next hour with 'bloody Potter' in every other sentence. He was amazed at the level of immaturity that his son showed for continuing his hatred against the student, more so in that he even _remembered_ some of the details he spoke of. Though, some of those details he learned proved invaluable. He smirked as he sipped his last glass for the day as his son finished his long tale. Potter, it seemed, would share his taste for dry wine based on his actions and personality so far.

Still, the brewing desire to have his minx was not sated even by this long revelation and he downed his glass as soon as Draco left. 'I must see him,' he thought resigned. 'The only way to soothe this horrid wont is to give in a measure of wont.' He knew the little brat's birthday was July 31st, but there was no way he could wait that long. His smirk returned; 'I suppose it's just my luck a certain contact of mine reported that Dumbledore will make a special visit to a certain special person'.

He had to wait, anxiously though he would never admit it, for his son's party to roll around even closer. He started counting once it was down to four days and, a tad fearfully, noting that he hadn't been called for weeks even for the most mundane things like a check-up. If he wasn't in such a doubting position of his current alliances, he would scoff at the paranoid-like behaviour the Dark Lord was displaying. 'Of course, we all know he is a sadistic bastard. He just might be toying with me.' But the fact that his master knew something, however marginal, about his plans made Lucius ever more nervous.

He downed his small glass in an undignified hurry; a meagre amount would not affect any important skills like motor functions or Occulemency, but it would still have a tingly effect on his nerves. It was a hour to eight, the start of the grand ball for his son's sixteenth birthday. Muggles gave that date great importance, not that he respected Muggle customs or that any birthday was to be celebrated with less importance than another. No, Narcissa just always planned grand things for his son.

The long awaited sign finally started, his left arm burned with a great intensity. Lucius eagerly answered the call, practically already in a bow once he apparated to the destined site. "My Lord," he greeted warmly because of his intimate standing, but with a touch of humble servitude. He noticed, upon standing, that it was a call just for his Death Eaters that had children of age to be initiated and he was the only without his son present.

"Lucius," the Dark Lord spoke, a sharp note clear to his voice. "I was planning on meeting that precious son of yours. I had not realised that I would need to send an invitation,"

"My Lord," Lucius began, knowing that bluntness would be the best to curb his master's anger. "If I may, I would like to postpone my son's Marking. As head of the hierarchy in the Slytherin House, he would be targeted for being Dark. If he was seen with a Mark it would give Dumbledore the right to search through the dorms and effectively ruin all of your great plans and expose nearly all of your newly initiated members." He explained hastily, knowing that there was plenty of holes that could rip right through his alibi, but most of his effort was focused on his mind shields.

The Dark Lord scowled at him. "Crucio," he muttered lazily and Lucius yelped as his nerves lit on fire. He stubbornly stood against this attack, biting his tongue to silence any undignified screams and screwing his shields even tighter as he felt the Dark Lord attempt to invade his mind gently. His body felt ice-cold at the ghastly probing but his desperate work was not so easily undone. The curse was lifted and Lucius gasped in relief, clutching his stomach and taking a step back while his body shook still.

"You surprise me yet, Malfoy," he hissed, sitting even straighter upon his throne. What exactly he was referencing to, Lucius could not identify. "Tell me, how exactly did you manage to escape from your failed mission?"

Lucius winced, taking a few breaths to gain control of his body again and spat out the blood in his mouth. He was lucky his tongue was still intact. "You see, my Lord, Potter, the clumsy brat, had dropped the orb containing the prophecy so I began to duel him in an attempt to capture him and bring him to you. There is no doubt of my loyalty to you." Sweet-talking excused nothing but it did help smooth things over. He fell to his knees in a purposeful motion that he knew his lord saw for all its worth.

"We somehow were separated from the rest and led into a corridor full of many rooms; the one we managed to get pulled into locked magically against us and made our wands useless. The air was suffocating and subtle other magics were leaking into our bodies by the simple act of breathing. Those magics clouded our judgement and make viewing the memory in a pensieve blurry; all that I remember is being forced to feel emotions I had never wanted nor desired," he put a sneer on his face before he continued. "Kindness, sympathy, wanting to be nice for the sake of being nice among other things. Someone finally opened the door from the outside, one of the pathetic Weasley blood-traitors' clutch, and the stupid Potter brat must have fallen prey to the Room's magics since he insisted that I be let off scot-free,"

He waited for the Dark Lord to respond, keeping his head low and definitely out of eye contact as he reviewed the real memories to himself with a suppressed shudder. So he twisted the truth of the events some and didn't tell the whole of the truth, but some of it was his real hypothesized conclusion. The Room had a sentient magic of its own and forced Lucius to discover his latent desires of lust for another male and that was it. He also deduced that the magic still remained in his body and was the cause for his near mad compulsion to see Potter again. It was the only thing that made sense after being easily cold for decades and years before upon seeing and meeting the raven-haired teen.

His mouth went dry and he briefly wondered if the Dark Lord didn't need to have eye-contact to review memories. But he hadn't felt even the tiniest of tendrils poking around in his mind and obliterated that notion quickly. "My Lord...?" he ventured cautiously, taking his chances and glancing up at his master.

"You have been...very enlightening on the subject, my faithful Lucius. I think I shall grant you a leave of six months for your son, that should stump Albus enough. He hates when his plans to counter my "predictability" are ruined," Lucius sighed quietly to himself. "But, you have failed me, and for that, you must be punished. Crucio," Part of his punishment meant than he was unable to silence himself through physical or magical means he discovered. He was forced to scream himself hoarse to his Dark Lord's pleasure and his intense pain. His nerves burst and his insides felt like they were on fire for a whole forty two minutes. He only hoped that Draco would understand the significance of what Lucius gave him in time.

After being dismissed back home, Lucius collapsed to the floor of his second, more secluded and off-limits, office and lay there, gasping with his hand to his chest. He closed his eyes and focused on breathing. Inhaling the good, his home, his family, safety and exhaling the bad, his pain, his fear, worry. Breath in Potter, breath out Potter.

His thoughts always returned to Potter lately. For the first time, in a very long time, he allowed himself to laugh. He laughed until he could have sworn that his sides ripped and began to bleed all over his nice carpet. Unicorn hair and albino phoenix feathers. Very rare and very, very hard to clean. And for another first, he couldn't care less. He had lied to the Dark Lord, for Potter no less, and he had gotten away _alive_.


	2. Chapter 2

_I forgot to add this to the end of the previous chapter, silly me:_

_1) Based off a regular pattern viewing a timeline of all books, Hogwarts officially closes on a Saturday after all exams usually from the 15-20th of June. According to many sites, Draco's birthday is June 5- which would mean it would be weeks after the real date before he celebrated his birthday over the summer vacation. I decided to take liberties and change it to a month later (July 5) so he shared the same month as Harry and give some breathing room for possible Marking- which is much more convenient for the plot._

_Also, really sorry about the wait. In fact, only two more chapters left I think and I have a good portion of it done, so definitely not as long of a wait next time, hopefully...hehe...R&R?  
_

Lucius celebrated the third day of his marvelous escape from lying to the Dark Lord's face by not requiring the use of his cane. Perhaps it was the fallible fault of his Malfoy pride, but he would much rather wobble on his own than lean and limp upon a piece of wood. At least he managed not to drown himself in alcohol so much like he had been, although sobriety left him very aware of a particular burning itch in his lower abdomen. And the itch got worse the more he checked the date. The days after July 12th were extremely vexing since he knew, oh how he_ knew_, that Potter was_ there_. So accessible, so vulnerable. But, no, dignity and timing forced him to wait. July 31st was the brat's birthday and he would be damned if he wouldn't make that day the best birthday Potter would ever have while getting rid of these stupid desires at the same time. Malfoy pride ordered no less of him.

So, when the day finally came amongst all the dreadful waiting, pointless meandering through his gardens, and the occasional messing around with his anxious son, he was sure that he looked as much as a fool as he felt for being so preposterously giddy. There was no logical reason for it, but he was as jubilant as if he was more than drunk on his favourite wine. And then there was a small, quiet, fluttering that tickled his gut as he mentally checked his plan. Perhaps by waiting so long after their incident in the room its magic started becoming sentient in a way, growing and increasing the effects upon each person. He wondered if Potter was being affected justly, if that was so.

Lucius briefly entertained the thought of Harry suffering from the effects of heat and lust, waiting for Lucius to come save him from the depths of such painful pleasure. He grinned to himself a grin which would have made anyone else who saw it immediately suspicious and had a house-elf fetch him his finest red wine. He had a feeling he wouldn't need it, but an intoxicated Potter could prove useful for more reasons than one. Especially if he was in such a deliciously imaginative state. A thankful Potter might be a loose-lipped Potter; and the Dark Lord would likely remove any suspicion of loyalties from his name with some of the Boy-Who-Lived's precious knowledge.

The Malfoy family centuries-old grandfather clock started to chime twelve. Its dark stained-red mahogany wood providing excellent acoustics for the pendulum's effects inside making a deep, throaty hum that was calming rather than startling with its sudden magnificent noise. Lucius closed his eyes, taking a deep breath and released it once he was on Grimmauld Place property. He could hear the ringing in his mind, perfectly timed to the second, from knowing it so well. It was on the fourth ding now.

Casting a few Notice-Me-Nots and Disillusionment charms, he mentally thanked Mundungus for being so greedy and willing. Really, a few galleons and the man was spilling his guts on the floor. Though, perhaps that was due to the Cruciatus curse in part.

He smirked to himself and whispered 'point me', feeling the excitement in his own breath as he spoke the words. A shiver went up his spine at the thrill of the hunt. _The thrill of the hunt. _His 'alohomora' was near silent, his feet were silent even on the Weasley's poor flooring that threatened to expose him. But even the best techniques could not quieten the sound of his heartbeat thrumming inside his ears or the way his breaths seemed to be louder than any human could ever breath.

Even he couldn't deny it any more. He could try to write it off as the thrill of the hunt, but that would fall flat even in his own mind. He truly was excited about what should be such a degrading event. It was now a chore that he would be lying if he said he didn't enjoy just a little; and that both scared and excited him. He was a man who had everything he wanted, a man whom was perfectly content with his life. He shouldn't want this as a man or as a Malfoy.

And then Lucius pushed open the door to Harry's room. All intelligible thoughts left him in that moment. He heard his breath disappear like a wilted flower and then crumble and die even though he had no need to be cautious with the sound of Weasley's snoring covering any noise he could hope to make. _Thrillofthehunt, thrillofthehunt, _his heart spoke to him, pumping hard and loud enough that it seemed to be trying to expose him. But for what exactly he wasn't sure yet. He wasn't sure if he wanted to know either, not if it had anything to do with Potter.

He shook the brat awake. Loathe as he was to admit, it was a more tender touch than he ever touched his son with. He _pet _those ebony locks, _fingered_ those long eyelashes of his and _pressed _his cheek up against Potter's as he knelt beside his bed. He willed it to flush with red colours of waking to contrast his electrifying eyes of green. As he thought about what he was doing, he felt Potter open his eyes with sleepy wariness.

"Harry," he whispered breathy once he could breath again. His protective charms falling one by one in front of this boy. He decided to pointedly ignore the un-amorous sounds of the Weasley's sleeping noises as their intimate background music of the moment.

Potter blinked, adorably confused. "Lucius-" Malfoy shushed him, removing his cheek and placing his finger on his lips.

"Don't talk," he murmured. "Just, come with me," He lifted the bottle of wine and slowly took Potter's hand and squeezed it. "Come with me, Harry, please," he repeated softer. He watched Potter's eyes switch back and forth from his face to the red wine, noting with pleasure that the greediest shine in his eyes took place when looking at him.

* * *

"I think you've had just a little too much to drink, Harry," Lucius whispered, nibbling on his ear as he did so with an uncontainable grin on his face.

Potter pouted. "But, Luscious-" he slurred before collapsing into a fit of giggles and sipping at the last drops in his glass. Lucius smiled broader, swallowing the last straight out of the bottle.

"Lucius, you're so luscious, Lucius," he managed to say coherently for a drunk, sliding his way over onto Lucius' lap. "What did you really want tonight?" he asked, plucking at the senior's robes.

The blonde's smile fell a little and he threw away the wine bottle with a satisfying crash. It was only one of his more lesser properties that he owned and the house-elves here would be more than happy to actually clean up something considering there were few visits made to this cozier mansion. Still, he enjoyed this bed; he planned on this to be his bed for affairs if and whenever he indulged himself in such a delusion. It was lavish, as was anything to bear Malfoy ownership, and it was a firm mattress, almost punishingly so. A message to himself in case he ever did succumb to his lesser inhibitions. But he had cast a softening charm where Potter was to lay, he deserved that at least. "I wanted to get you drunk, of course,"

"Mm, and then what?" the boy mumbled.

"I wished to learn of the great secrets you possess that would be a danger in the hands of the Dark Lord," his voice grew a little softer, in his mind at least, when he lied to him. He noticed it was no less of a simple task than lying to the Dark Lord and wasn't that something he did not wish to ever compare again. He hated how much he disliked the idea of comparing Potter to his dirty dealings for and with He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named. As if the boy was supposed to mean something sacred to him.

Potter just nodded with closed eyes, his glasses having already being flung away for being an obstruction. Cute and dorky, but an obstruction nonetheless. He slowly lifted his eye lids and smirked. "You see, I have a problem believing that because I know you're lying, Mr. Fancy-Pants," he grumbled half-seriously before laughing again, almost falling off if it weren't for his tight hold on Malfoy's clothes. "Ah, yesss, you just want to be inside me. And look at me! Who can resist this?" he gestured wildly to his lanky frame, grinning like a fool.

Lucius stared throughout his drunken monologue, and swallowing as he remembered just exactly what his naked body looked like. "Quite right, you're very desirable currently," he almost didn't speak at an audible level.

"You bet your sweet ass I'm bloody desirable!" he attempted to smother his laughter, but a few chuckles escaped. "So, what are you going to do about it?" Potter tapped Lucius' nose, his alcohol-laced breath steaming both of their faces. Lucius snogged him before he could even think about what he was doing.

His mind instantly went back to their time in that Room in the Department of Mysteries. But the feeling wasn't the same as it had been then. Before it was a suffocating force compelling them in the fiercest way, now it was a more personal force coming from the inside and more unfathomable. Lucius wanted to keep it like that, hoping the residual magic would dissipate after the subtler after-affects were appeased. He didn't want to think about what sorts of consequences there would be if the magic didn't go away. Or if the unthinkable occurred; if the magic was like a poison, always infecting him to crave the stupid boy to the point of insanity.

Of course he should have known that the Universe wanted to punish him slowly. Why else would they both find that stupid Room in the Ministry when no one else could now? As a Ministry worker himself, it was easy to follow the case and coerce someone into letting him lead it; since that werewolf persuaded Dumbledore to believe something debauchery occurred. Which did, but that didn't mean that he would let anyone else start to wonder about it. Besides, it was a great way to know more about the magic that ensnared him so completely.

If only for now.

He tugged away both of their clothes and if he accidentally ripped his personally hand-crafted linens or Potter's own rags, well, then, oops. He supposed there always was a day to go shopping with the brat. He needed someone with a knowledge of style. He needed Lucius.

That actually made him stop in the process of tearing off the boy's simply made boxers. His own were made from peacock feathers, less irritation and more flexibility than plebeian cotton. "You need me," he had to say out loud, panting and heavy with lust, tasting those sweet words. He wanted Potter to tell him those words. Wanted him to feel the need to tell him those words. It felt more thrilling than hunting his minx down. "You need me," he growled.

"Yes, yes," Harry said as throatily as possible. "I need you, I want you, anything you want me to say just don't stop,"

"Tell me that you love me," Lucius breathed right into his ear, feeling stray black hairs tickle his face. He stilled so much that he resembled a statue and Potter groaned. "Say it," he urged with electric vibration coursing through his whole body and making it burst on fire. Potter-no, _Harry_-was his Cruciatus curse of the pleasing variety. Lucius wondered idly how long he could stand this version threatening to explode him in such a different manner.

Harry glanced at him, his eyes the brightest green that they had ever been. His eyelashes covered the whites of his partially-closed eyes, providing an excellent frame. His mouth curved into a shy smirk. "I love you, Lucius Abraxus Malfoy," he purred, sliding his arms around the blonde's neck. "I love you more than anything in the world. I love you more than life itself,"

As Lucius stared down into those eyes, impossibly close to neon brightness, he could see the truth deep within them. Even if Harry was only humouring him, the alcohol couldn't explain away that amount of honesty. It made him wonder, how much truth was revealed in his own eyes? How long would it be until the truth completely consumed them both?

He was being silly, foolish to a high degree. The magic from the room was inconsequential, it certainly would hold no sway once he got it out of his system once and for all. Even if it took a hold on Harry, his Malfoy training wouldn't let himself sink that low. To think he could even fall in love with someone like Potter!

But even in his mind, the joke fell utterly flat. In fact, it turned on him and he began to take the joke seriously. What _would_ his life be like if Potter became his spouse? What if he _did_ become someone more important than the occasional fuck? How would they live? What would Draco think? What would _Narcissa_ think, for that matter?

It was so easy to imagine Harry wrapped around him as they both cheerfully waved Narcissa good-bye in sarcastic sympathy and vainly-hidden scorn. And the look on his cold wife's face as she realized she was left with little more than a consolation prize in her bank account and a generous villa in France and the things she already owned would be priceless to say the least. But once she was gone at last, he would christen every room in the manor with Harry's moans and smell. He would take his green-eyed minx all over the world, showering him with gifts and lavish things. He would wear _decent_ clothes for once. He would splutter and protest and blush, in that deliciously-adorable way of his, preferring to have little and buy from locals that truly needed the service.

And so Lucius would consent and stand to the side, watching the people flock to Harry's side entranced by his inherent kindness with only minimal jealousy, and secretly invest in the businesses that his lover chose so that they could be up to his standards anyways. By the end of the day, Harry would stroll over to him with that knowing glimmer in his eye and accuse him of doing so. But Lucius would nonchalantly deny it, unable to prevent the smallest upturn of a grin because they both knew the truth, and would be gifted in return with Harry's love all night.

Draco would sneer at first, pretending to be civil while hurling insults at his own father in the privacy of Lucius' study encouraged by his mother's keening of 'your _traitorous father_' in their letters of correspondence between them. Lucius would simply listen with a disinterested arched eyebrow and wave away his complaints. But Harry would frown, bristling at times with anger, knowing exactly what was going on without having to be told, or near the study at all, and attempting to teach his son-in-law the futility of resisting love in the only way his Gryffindorish self would know how: through verbal, if not, physical confrontations.

After awhile, Draco would get tired and eventually open his mind to the possibility of acceptance. And then, he would finally accept it and slowly change his views once more. The two could play Quidditch together, furiously stretching and pushing one another to their outer limits and growing closer each day. Lucius would watch on the sidelines, enraptured by the gracefulness in their flight and then enraptured by the fearless wild look in Harry's windblown face as he dismounted. Draco would watch them kiss passionately and complain about how 'gross it was' with a little smirk on his face before discreetly walking away to give them privacy.

It was all too easy to imagine it all and so Lucius vowed never to make that mistake again. But while the pang was still there, he would punish his mind for thinking so freely by making love to the brat underneath him only this once. Then he would never touch him again.

He threw his temptation onto the bed, smothering his excited squeals of laughter with his own body, his own groaning. The bed was silent under them, bending and dipping with their motions without annoying squeaks. Merlin, how it felt so good, _so sweet_ to have his little minx grinding against him, creating friction with him. Every moan, every shudder, every gasp, every "Lucius, oh god, Lucius, please! More, please moremoremore!", only served to make him harder. And this feeling far surpassed the memory of taking his virginity. Nothing would compare to, nothing could _ever_ compare to the actual present, the current knowing of being inside his green-eyed elf.

It almost felt like enough_.  
_


End file.
